


Tumblr Requests

by Raz0reyes



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:49:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23007433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raz0reyes/pseuds/Raz0reyes
Summary: Just a collection of writing exercises I had done on tumblr.
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Cracked lips coupled with a sandpaper tongue, I can breathe through my mouth but at what cost? Everything hurts, I taste decay and rot with each awful inhale. 

My nose is caved into my face, as is most of my skull, head bloated with warm blood, my body is weak and I can barely see. Black spots flutter in what’s left of my vision, floating around in my eyes as I try to follow them in my dying haze. Something to distract me from this awful pain.

I draw in another breath.

Pain. My lungs burn.

I lay my head down on the cool concrete, it feels heavenly to my red hot skin, blood sticking my cheek to the ground. I know I am dying. I cannot move my body as I bleed out in the abandoned streets. I don’t want to move it anyhow.

There is no point in fighting it, I know they will come for me, if they aren’t already here. I can hear the low hum of their song as my vision blots into a technicolor hell. I cannot see anymore, but I feel the tears I longed to cry hours ago streak my face and dribble into my mouth.

It is the only relief I’ve ever been given in my brief life and the last thing I remember before everything is nothing once again.


	2. Dead Sheep

Slaughterhouses are supposed to be unsettling by nature. They’re built to house the corpses of animals, they’re houses of death.

Places where souls are not free, born to be killed, that is their destiny. To grow, to eat, to get fat and die. Such is life, really. 

The world is a slowed down slaughterhouse. We are allowed to live our lives as we see fit, but the pattern is still there. We work to substation ourselves, to have food, shelter, and pleasure. 

All things needed to survive, yet we don’t give the same grace to the animals we breed for the same purpose. We see them as lower than us.

What of those above us? If something created humans they must be an even higher form of intelligence, a higher form of man we will never meet. Maybe we will meet them, on a dinner plate. 

I am no better than a dead sheep hanging in a slaughterhouse, bleeding out with the light dying in my eyes. But at least my body will follow the order of life and death, returning to where we once came.


	3. The Creator of the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt words: Bitter and Very Sick

The creator of the universe is a child with a cracked open head. The creator of the universe wishes he was dead. For the creation that became was not the one he envisioned. 

So he cries, cries, cries.

He wanted a happy world, one to escape the horrors and wrenched life he has. He wanted a world where he was something, where everyone could be something. But here he is, the little nothing that he always was and will be.

The creator of the world is very sick, the tar and glass inside of his head bubble and overflows down his face, scarring and ripping away his skin, he still cries but the pain is nothing to him.

The world he made is a reflection of himself, polluted, cold and dark. Filled with sickness and with hatred. Disgust and gluttony, death and desire, bloodied and mangled.

The world he made for us was nothing more than a still born thought, conceived and birthed too soon. Small pulsating, covered in gore and mucus, this is the world of a dying child, an angry child, a failed child.

He knows this so he cries. He cries for his failure, he cries for himself, he cries out of anger, he cries because he cannot die. He cries because he is no better then you or me.


End file.
